


Satiated

by Persephone



Series: Sons of Troy [9]
Category: The Iliad - Homer, Troy (2004)
Genre: Drugged Sex, M/M, Masturbation in Someone Else's Clothes, Rimming, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-11
Updated: 2011-12-11
Packaged: 2017-10-27 04:57:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/291816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persephone/pseuds/Persephone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hector has been gone for eleven days, and Paris is in dire straights.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Satiated

Eleven days.

Paris’s mind wandered in a daze, unable to concentrate on anything his father was saying.

It was nearing dusk and the light in his father’s rooms was warm, and the air balmy. Paris lay sprawled on a dais, in the midst of silk throws and satin cushions as soft and inviting as a caress. Scattered around him were rose petals, platters of fruits and sweet meats, and honey wine in small bronze goblets. And in the corner his father’s musicians made heavenly music on harps and flutes.

It was everything a heart could desire for contentment. Yet, Paris was anything but content.

While his father reminisced about great battles he had fought in his youth, Paris slowly writhed on the dais, restlessly pressing into the cushions, pushing silk sheets aside and then pulling them back over his legs. He picked at his food and then pushed the platter aside. Then he turned onto his back, squirmed some more, and sighed deeply.

Priam stopped talking. “I don’t have your attention this evening, Paris.”

Paris propped himself on his elbow and smiled apologetically. “Ah, Father,” he sighed. “I find I am… distracted.”

“Over what, might I ask. Did you not see Helen last night?” His father’s eyes twinkled, and Paris tried to laugh, but found that he could not concentrate long enough to do even that.

“It is not that.”

“What, then?”

Paris stared across the room at the musicians for a long time.

Eleven days. He had been aching incessantly for eleven full days.

Nothing was able to satiate him. And, as the goddess was his witness, he had tried _everything_. With Helen, with others. Bound, uninhibited. Alone, together. All together. And all for naught.

Finally he had given up and accepted that the only person who could quench his need was the person who had created it.

Hector.

And it had been eleven days since his brother had been inside him.

Paris shut his eyes.

Hector had not come into the city in all that time, had stayed out in the fields running a campaign that was proving interminable. Paris had arranged to go into the fields on four separate occasions and each time his father had pleaded with him not to. Of course he knew the dangers, especially at such a time, and of course he would be careful. But Priam had begged, fear etched in his face. So Paris had stayed each time.

Now he was suffering because of it. His body ached and throbbed from morning till night. And with each attempt at release his ache only dug in deeper, and his thoughts stuck on Hector giving him a release so powerful he would sleep for days.

He suddenly realized he hadn’t answered his father’s query. He climbed off the dais and walked over to his father, bent over, and kissed his cheek.

“I am not in a state to be of good company, Father.” He turned to leave but Priam took his hand.

“So I see.” His father gently patted the hand he was holding. “Go and rest, my son. I will send my best physician with potions for whatever ails you.”

Which made Paris sigh even deeper. “He cannot help. Not for this.”

Priam patted his hand again, and Paris turned away and walked back to his house on unsteady legs. A bath would sustain him. He could lie in warm, scented waters that would feel good all over his body, and take attention away from his groin for a time.

His house was the highest point in Troy, and his room was the highest in the house. In his room was a large window that faced the fields and looked out all the way to the Aegean. He stood before it, his hands gripping the sill on both sides, and forced his sight into the distance.

On the fields were the usual encampments of men, and the litter of broken wheels and chariots and other debris… but he could not see where Hector would be. He looked, as he did each day, for the tell-tale line of rising dust that would signify that Hector’s guard was returning to the city. But there was nothing.

Paris crossed back to his bedside and pulled on a thick braided rope hanging from the ceiling. A few moments later the old servant who was head of his household came in and he requested a warm bath.

Not long after, three servants entered with a bronze tub full of warm rose water, and robes. The servant who carried the robes bowed deeply as the other two set the tub down.

“My prince, your father’s physician waits outside for you, when you are ready.”

Paris shed his garments and slowly stepped in. The water felt delicious against his skin, its subtle pressure already alleviating some of his ache. He sighed, laid his head back, and closed his eyes.

“I do not need him,” he finally replied.

“Yes, my prince. He said your father warned him you might not, but that he was to see you anyway.”

Paris sighed heavily. “Send him in, then.”

The physician who came in was old and gray, as Paris saw through the one eye he managed to open. He looked to Paris like the oldest man in the world. Perhaps he was also the wisest, and could tell Paris how to escape undetected into the fields and find his brother.

The man did not seem surprised to see Paris in a bath and with meticulous movements pulled up a stool and sat down next to the tub.

He peered at Paris. Paris held still and breathed through his mouth, wondering what the old man was looking for in his face. After a few moments, he gave up and closed his eyes and laid his head back against the tub.

A few more moments of silence passed, in which Paris listened to the man’s regular breathing until his curiosity forced him to speak.

“What are seeing?”

The man did not respond, and Paris opened his eyes and looked at him. He was digging through a bag on the floor next to him.

“There is nothing to be done for you,” the man finally dismissed in a scratchy old voice.

Paris scowled slowly before closing his eyes once more. _That_ was wisdom?

“Here.” The man must have been holding something up, but Paris couldn’t be bothered to open his eyes again. Already too much had interfered with the pleasure of his bath.

“I shall set it on the table here, and you must take half a cup of it with a meal, once a day. It will relax you nicely. It is already mixed, and although it tastes quite good, do not be tempted to drink more than I have said. It has no ill effects, but it can be very potent!”

The physician continued talking, but Paris’s mind was somewhere else entirely. The warmth of the water seeped right into his pores and it felt delicious. It diffused his ache and made it a little easier to bear.

And he remembered something he hadn’t thought about in a while. How could he have forgotten about this wonderful secret of his? His heart gave a hard pump and he forced himself to remain as he was until the physician would leave.

Finally the physician was thanking him for his time and leaving. Without waiting for the door to close behind him, Paris stepped out of the water and dried off as he made his way to a corner of the room.

He knelt beside a thick mahogany chest and pushed the heavy lid up. Inside were three robes, all belonging to Hector. Picking up the topmost one, he brought it to his face and inhaled deeply. The heady scent of his brother filled his head, and he moaned, pleased with the possibilities this held. He stood up and walked back to his bed, the robe unfolding in his grip.

Vaguely, he chided himself for doing this, when he knew it would certainly _not_ help, would only worsen his need.

But he did not know how to deny himself anything, and as he slid on Hector’s robe and nearly drowned in his brother’s scent, he knew he would suffer anything for this sensation.

The robe was too big for him, and, as the embroidered front easily fell open the thick threads scraped against his nipples. His cock pulsed in response, already beginning to leak, and he crawled on his hands and knees onto the fur covered bed.

He bent his head down and inhaled against the robe, and of its own accord his hand moved under him and began to slide up his thigh. It smoothed its way upwards, and came to rest on his lower back. Then his fingers began to pull up the robe, inch by inch. He moaned heatedly and arched his back as his backside was exposed and his fingers pressed against his cleft.

But his hands and knees began to tremble, and he knew he could not stay upright in this position.

Panting, he turned onto his back and slipped his hands back inside the robe, sliding them down to his thighs. His eyes closed and his body arched as he spread his legs and ran his hands over the sensitized flesh of his inner thighs.

He gasped out loud when the soft, heavy brocade cloth slipped, and settled between his thighs.

“ _Hector…_ ” he howled softly, writhing slowly against the cloth so that it rubbed against his erection.

His hands slid from under the robe and ran the length of his chest, fingertips and palms grazing over every memorized stitch of cloth.

Suddenly there was a loud shout, and gradually through his haze Paris recognized the familiar groan of the Scaean Gates opening. Slowly, he propped himself on his elbow, trying to think. It sounded as though _both_ city gates were being opened…

“Prince Hector’s guard!” somebody yelled from far below. “Send word to the King!”

Paris was at the window even before he fully understood the words. As clear as day, he could see the trail of horses and dust almost at the gates. He sagged against the window sill and silently thanked the goddess for bringing Hector home safe. And for rescuing him from his torture.

He threw off the robe he was wearing and pulled on his own garments. He was expected to be in his father’s advisory chambers to hear how the campaign had gone, and usually it was something he wished he could avoid.

But this time, he was there before anyone else arrived. He sat still and waited patiently, breathing through his mouth to remain calm. He knew Hector would return to his own house to greet his wife and son after this meeting, but he would wait for him later, and had instructed his servants to array wine and food in his rooms.

When Hector finally walked in Paris bit down hard on his lip. He seemed larger than Paris remembered. His hair seemed longer, his arms bigger, his eyes darker, his lips fuller. Paris felt himself grow ravenous as desire rushed through his body like a tidal wave.

He listened to Hector’s deep voice outline and detail the state of their defenses, which were in a status quo, despite the determined campaign. Paris wished with one part of his mind that Hector would go on speaking forever so that he could keep hearing his voice, while the other part of his mind wished he would be done right now and come home with him.

Hector spoke in tight clipped tones, tension still in his bearing. He was being short with some of the advisors who Paris felt were asking annoying questions anyway, and prolonging the meeting. He drank in every inch of Hector, detailing in his head all the ways he could help him relax later on.

Finally the meeting was over and everyone was getting up. Hector remained talking to their father as everyone left, and Paris stayed seated. His father then patted Hector’s arm and smiled over at Paris before leaving as well.

Then Hector turned and scowled at Paris, his dark eyes squinting slightly.

Paris managed not to close his eyes and touch himself. Instead he slid out of his chair and carefully approached his brother.

“May I… offer you a welcome drink in my house later, Hector,” he breathed. He was now inches away from Hector and it seemed unreal that Hector was finally here with him.

Hector eyed him up and down. “A welcome drink,” he said with disdain. “Have you even stopped your constant _welcome drinking_ for one moment to give thought to what happens outside your gates?”

Paris moved closer. “You can tell me all about it… later, if you like.”

Hector snorted. “As if you truly cared to hear any such thing.”

Paris continued staring up at him.

“I will come.” Hector finally waved his hand dismissively, and walked out.

Paris thought for a few moments, then headed in the direction of the palace gardens. There was a statue of the goddess there, and an offering of thanks was due. He had an hour or two to pass.

But nearly three hours later he was sitting on a stone bench outside Hector’s house, still waiting. It was maddening that he had waited so unbelievably long for Hector, only to have to suffer with him right next door.

Sighing, he stood up and made his way to his own house. It was as he entered his chambers that he heard Hector’s voice responding to a greeting from one of his servants.

Paris quickly hurried to his room and took a cursory look around. There were trays of food and wine on a round table in the middle of the room. Two broad leather bound chairs faced each other across the table, and while Paris would have preferred that the food be set by his recliners, there was no time to make a change now.

He stood by the door and waited. Hector stepped into view, and Paris’s heart tripped. Paris smiled slowly at him. Hector spared him a brief glance before entering the room.

“I trust you are well, Alexandros,” Hector asked, sitting down at the table.

“Yes, I am, thank you.” Happiness grew inside him, and Paris left the doorway to join his brother at the table. He sat down and pulled his knee up to his chest, wrapping his arm around it, and smiled at Hector.

Hector was looking down at the platters of food, picking fruits from the trays and depositing them onto his pressed bronze plate.

“Father tells me you have been somewhat unwell,” he said without looking up. “Is this so?”

Paris shrugged and kept on smiling. Hector’s hair _was_ a little longer. He had tied the long dark curls back at his nape with a thick strip of gold fabric and he looked freshly bathed. He wore a robe of dark blue and around his wrists and neck were the bracelets and necklace worn by all the princes of Troy.

And even from across the table Paris could smell his wonderful distinct scent.

Hector glanced up as Paris merely shrugged, then returned his attention to his food. He poured out wine from a silver jug into a large goblet.

“Because Olympus knows,” Hector continued, “we would not want Troy’s _favorite_ son to suffer any measure of unease.”

“No,” Paris shook his head firmly, smiling as Hector ate his way through his plate of food. “I am quite well.”

“Did you at least attend the advisory meetings every day to hear news from the fields?”

Paris’s smile widened. “I did, every day. I knew it would… please you.”

Hector drank wine, and said nothing. As he poured himself more from the silver jug, he lifted his eyes. Paris heated at their intensity. His ache had been lying in wait, as happiness at Hector’s return had filled every part of him.

Now, it began to spread hotly from his center, and he felt his legs begin to tremble. Why were they _talking?_

Hector drank some more, then stared at him again. Paris shifted restlessly.

“And…” Hector said, his voice deep and slow. “What of your… needs?”

Paris could not believe it when he blushed at the tone of Hector’s voice. But what was to be expected? Hector hardly ever asked anything like that, and it caught Paris off guard.

He looked away for a moment and then looked back at Hector… and his breath caught.

The dark depths of Hector’s eyes burned right through him, and Paris’s cock throbbed insistently in response. But, as he watched, he saw also that Hector’s eyes were slightly unfocused, as if he were intoxicated, without being so.

“Who… has been taking care of those?” Hector seemed to be having difficulty forming sentences. “Those… insatiable… begging to be… brought under control… ravenous needs…”

Hector blinked slowly at him, and Paris looked down at his goblet. It was dark brown, not the light red of watered wine. Still, Hector had barely…

Paris quickly and discreetly looked around the table, trying to understand…

Then his eyes alighted on the silver jug. Was that a new gift from someone? For he had never before seen it. Perhaps his servants had neglected to tell him…

Then Paris’s heart stopped altogether. His eyes swept around the room and he could see no other container, and in shock accepted the fact that the silver jug had come from the physician. As had the liquid inside it. It was the potion he was supposed to take to relax him!

Hector had nearly finished it.

Before Paris could stop himself, he blurted out, “Have you not drunk enough, Hector?”

Hector frowned fiercely at him. “Are you trying… to instruct me… on how much wine… I may consume?”

And Hector swallowed another mouthful. Paris cringed and slowly shook his head and tried to think. What had the physician said about dosage? And potency? Oh, if only he had listened! But whatever it was, he knew Hector was drinking far too much!

Refusing to acknowledge the many obvious purposes of such a potion, Paris instead prayed that it would have no ill effects on his brother. He could not tell Hector what he was drinking, for Hector would think he had intentionally used it on him. Yet he should not simply sit by and watch. So what was he to do?

Hector solved Paris’s dilemma by pushing his chair away from the table, and sliding lower in it. At last he seemed to be done eating. Hector threw his arms over the armrests of the chair and his head dropped backwards. Paris stood up slowly, biting his lower lip, and examined his brother.

He looked to be asleep. But then he slid even lower in his chair, and Paris stopped moving. After a moment, Paris moved closer and knelt by Hector’s chair.

He placed a tentative hand on Hector’s arm. His skin did not feel feverish, but warm and firm, and Paris could not help the shiver that ran through him. Curse that physician if he had deprived him of Hector’s lovemaking tonight.

“Hector,” he whispered softly. “Are you awake?”

Hector calmly lifted his head and looked down at him. “Why would I not be?”

And he did seem awake. And yet he did not seem to be in complete control of himself. Paris tentatively slid his hand around and up the back of Hector’s arm, and Hector growled low in his throat.

His hand came up and gripped Paris’s as if to pull it away. Hector’s grip was firm, and not the grip of a man falling asleep. But Paris held on, and after a brief tug, Hector’s hand simply remained covering his.

Paris stroked his thumb against Hector’s skin, and Hector moaned, and his head fell back. Paris’s eyes widened until he thought they would push out of their sockets.

He remembered this potion! Hector had once used it on him, for reasons he still could not fathom. And he had suffered no later ill effects.

But whatever it was, even though Hector was still aware of himself, it had rendered him incapable of any real physical resistance. But it also seemed to have heightened his senses, for he reacted immediately and strongly to pleasurable sensations.

Paris pulled back and stared, mind reeling. His breath came short and shallow and he tried to calm himself, desire overwhelming him for a moment.

He let his head fall back, and he took a few deep breaths, and accomplished his goal. He continued breathing slowly and deeply, licking his lips as he felt his cock swell under his robe.

He moved until he was between Hector’s spread legs, and watched him from under half closed eyes. Paris loosened his robe and let it slide off him. Then he leaned forward and took hold of the rope holding Hector’s robe in place.

He hesitated for a moment. A thousand admonitions tumbled through his mind. If Hector awoke and—

Paris tugged the rope and watched in fascination as it slithered to the floor. Then he lifted his eyes and stared at Hector’s towering erection. Fighting every urge to swallow it whole, for it would be over much too soon if he did, he instead gripped the tops of Hector’s thighs, slowly digging his fingers into the hard flesh.

Hector groaned and again his hands covered Paris’s but did not push them away. Paris slid his hands higher, then sat up and parted Hector’s robe completely. He leaned over until his nose touched Hector’s chest, and inhaled deeply. Hector writhed under him.

Paris shuddered and growled, unused to seeing his brother like this. Immediately he clamped his teeth down on Hector’s nipple. Hector jerked under him, and Paris gripped his thighs hard to keep him in place. Hector’s whimper squeezed hot drops out of Paris’s leaking cock, and he moved to the other nipple.

He bit down again, and then sucked his lips against it, and Hector’s hands gripped his naked shoulders. It was a sensation Paris had never, ever felt, and he quickly reached down and clamped down on the base on his cock.

He sat back on his haunches and fought for control, breathing through his mouth as he watched Hector’s face. Hector’s hands were still on his shoulders, his palms large and rough and warm. Then Hector’s eyes opened and locked with his, and his hands slid further down Paris’s shoulders, to his upper back. They slowly pulled him forward.

It was the last coherent thing Paris remembered. His body caught fire and he floated with his goddess, lost to anything but sensation. He leaned back down and gently chewed on Hector’s stomach, Hector’s wet cock rubbing against his cheek. Hector was trying to gasp but could only make sounds deep in his chest.

Unable to resist any longer, Paris opened his mouth over Hector’s cock, and swallowed it. Just one little taste….

But Hector’s hand gripped the back of his head, and locked him in place. Paris gripped Hector’s wrist, and pulled, but nothing happened. He breathed through his nose, and summoned his strength. Then he dug his fingers into Hector’s wrist, and slowly pried Hector’s hand off the back of his head.

A moment later Hector’s hand stopped resisting, and Paris let Hector’s cock slide out of his mouth. He looked up to see his brother scowling down at him.

“Why… will you not…”

Paris moved forward, closer against Hector, and pressed his face into his groin.

“Suck me, Xandros…” Hector growled slowly.

Paris moved even lower, and opened his mouth and breathed on Hector’s balls. Hector breathed harshly and slid lower in the leather chair. Paris thanked the goddess for the small movement, and slid his hands behind Hector’s knees.

“Have you… lost your taste… for me…”

Paris was in no frame of mind to explain anything. He pushed hard, and Hector’s legs lifted. He spread them wide, and carefully placed them on the armrests. Hector’s head fell back, and Paris stroked the insides of his thighs, staring at the sight before his eyes.

Hector was wide open before him.

Paris licked his lips, wetting every inch of them before leaning forward and spreading his wet tongue flat over Hector’s opening, covering it completely.

“Xandros!” Hector choked, and his legs slid off the armrests unto Paris’s shoulders, and Paris was forced to grab under his thighs to keep him spread open. Insistently, he swirled the flat of his tongue over the opening, laving up and then down, rolling his tongue back into his mouth to coat it with saliva. Soon Hector’s opening was soaked, and he felt his warm saliva slide down Hector’s cleft.

 _Oh, yes…_

Hector pushed both his hands into Paris’s dark curls. He gripped, and tugged, then splayed his fingers and rubbed his palms against Paris’s scalp. Paris shivered, and opened his mouth wider, and gently pushed his tongue into Hector. Hector spasmed, his muscle clamping on Paris’s tongue. Paris moaned long and low, and the vibrations drew an answering moan out of Hector, and his muscles slowly relaxed.

Soon his lips were fused over Hector’s opening, and he circled his tongue inside the tight muscle, lapping as deeply as he could, tasting anywhere he could reach. He pulled his tongue out and sucked firmly against Hector, and Hector struggled in the chair as Paris held him tightly.

He slanted his lips and groaned as he felt them slide over Hector’s wet, heated flesh. Enjoying the sensation, he pushed his tongue back in, and slanted his mouth in the opposite direction, and Hector writhed for him, making undecipherable sounds.

Paris pushed Hector’s legs higher, then stiffened his tongue and began to stab slowly and steadily at Hector’s opening. His tongue pushed halfway in with each thrust, before pulling back out, over and over… Hector began to thrash, and Paris gripped his legs tighter.

He wanted to stroke Hector’s cock, to feel it throb in his hand when he climaxed, so he pushed one leg over the armrest again and placed his palm over the wet tip of Hector’s cock. Hector had grabbed himself, and now rubbed the tip back and forth across Paris’s palm, crying out words Paris could not understand.

The wet tip tickled deep inside his skin, the strokes seeming to echo all over his body. Then Paris slid his hand down over Hector’s. Hector opened his fingers and intertwined them with Paris’s and Paris gripped back with shaking fingers, and they stroked him together. Hector began panting breathlessly.

“Xandros…! Xandros…!”

Paris whimpered, feeling Hector’s climax around his tongue before it pulsed against his fingers and shot out of his cock.

Paris slowly pulled his tongue out, and leaned forward and licked Hector’s chest, Hector’s groans vibrating against his tongue. Then he stood up, and hooked Hector’s legs securely onto the armrests.

He moved forward, spreading his own legs, until he was also straddling the armrests, pushing the front of his knees into the insides of Hector’s thighs, keeping him anchored in position. Then he grabbed himself at last, and aimed his tip at Hector’s opening.

Hector’s muscles were contracting rhythmically, as though he still climaxed, and Paris watched, groaning as he felt his climax rushing through him. His body shuddered hard and his vision blurred, but he kept watching as he peaked, and spurted all over Hector’s entrance.

Then he collapsed against Hector’s chest.

Hector moaned deep in his chest, and Paris stroked his hands up and down the sides of Hector’s torso. Fighting the urge to remain forever in that position, Paris collected his strength and moved off him. He pulled a clean square of white linen cloth off a small pile on the table, and knelt between Hector’s legs and wiped him clean.

Then he bent over and slid his arms under Hector’s. After two attempts he managed to make Hector stand up, and walked with his arms around him to the bed.

Hector collapsed on it, just as Paris was able to snatch the fur covers off it. He threw them over Hector before sliding in beside him. Hector had fallen into actual sleep, but Paris was wide awake.

And aching still.

He silently gritted his teeth in frustration, knowing it was because Hector had not made love to him. Hector breathed softly next to him on his stomach, and Paris rested his head on Hector’s outstretched arm. He slid his arm over the warm expanse of his back and wrapped his leg around Hector, and pressed into his side, waiting for him to wake up.

It was only half an hour later that Paris watched as Hector slowly opened his eyes. He smiled at Hector. Hector stared blankly at him for a few moments before his head whipped up. And his jaw dropped open.

Instantly, he was on his hands and knees, then had leapt over Paris’s prone body, landing on the floor next to the bed.

He stared down at Paris, and Zeus himself, ready to unleash a thunderbolt, could not have looked more perilous. Paris sank lower in his bed and pulled the sheets up around his face.

Hector’s fists slowly clenched at his sides, and Paris saw that his whole body shook with rage, and a moment later he let out a massive roar.

Paris’s heart stopped completely, and he felt the powerful sound like a deep thrust. His maddening ache spiked and his cock surged, and he frantically kicked the sheets off his body.

But Hector was at the bedroom door, stark naked. He savagely yanked the open door and bellowed into the hallway.

“Empty this _house!_ ”

There was absolute silence for a few breaths, and then a squeaked, “Y- y- y- yes, my Pr—!”

But Hector had already slammed the door shut and was stalking the room like a caged animal, staring at the floor, seemingly looking for something. He snatched something off the floor and stood up with two ropes in his hands. The ropes to their robes.

Hector slowly walked back to the bed, his eyes burning right through Paris, dark and deep and so hungry that for a moment Paris wondered which of them the goddess was using. He made himself lie perfectly still as Hector turned him on his side and bound together his wrists behind him, and then his ankles. He wanted to beg him to hurry, to not worry about how secure the knots were, to just hurry.

Hector pushed him until he lay sideways, then gripped him by the ropes binding his wrists. Then he felt Hector’s cock, wet and warm, stroking against his entrance. _Please, please,_ he urged silently. Then Hector was finally, finally pushing in, holding him immobile and rocking him hard. Paris closed his eyes and his mouth fell open.

“You will _never_ repeat what you did to me!” Hector hissed through gritted teeth. “You will not _dare!_ ”

Paris began to whimper, and turned his head into the silk sheets under his face. “You were gone too long, Hector!” he wailed desperately.

And suddenly it was all too much for him. He had silently endured so much pain all those days and nights without Hector, not knowing when or if he would ever return. He had returned, and as he firmly pulled him into his thrusts, Paris realized that his relief was just as painful as his ache…

And as Paris laid there enveloped and burning up under Hector’s passion, he finally could no longer hold himself together.

Paris began to cry.

In the next instant his bonds were loosened and he was lying on his back, and Hector was pulling out of him.

“No,” Paris rasped hoarsely, tightening his arms around Hector’s neck. Hector stilled. Paris buried his face against Hector’s neck and breathed thought his mouth, willing himself under control.

“Alexandros…” Paris had never heard fear in Hector’s voice, so it took him a few moments to recognize it. “What in Apollo’s name have I done…”

Hector’s warm fingers pressed into his face, wiping hot tears away. Paris shook his head as firmly as he could, denying Hector’s self-accusation, then buried his face into his neck once more.

Hector’s hand anchored on the crown of his head, sinking into his hair. Paris tightened his legs around Hector’s waist, and Hector understood. He began to move again.

This time he thrust slowly, deeply, and held Paris tightly to his body, pressing small kisses onto his wet face.

They panted against each other’s skin, and the ache that had lived inside Paris for so long, that he had failed to understand as being in his heart and not any lower, finally rose to the surface and was extinguished.

 _End_


End file.
